


A Lesson in Manners

by Magnetism_bind



Category: The Three Musketeers (2011)
Genre: Biting, Comeplay, Double Penetration, Facials, First Time, Gangbang, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos, Aramis and Porthos give D'Artagnan a much needed lesson in manners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Manners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [catnipsoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catnipsoup/gifts).



“We still owe you a lesson in manners.” Athos sits back in his chair, fingers linked across his chest as he gazes thoughtfully at D’Artagnan. “You can’t continue in Paris as you started today."

D’Artagnan reaches for his cup, chuckling. “Any time you feel up to the task.” He takes a deep gulp, before wiping his mouth. “If it’s not too taxing for you.”

It’s been a good day. If anyone had informed Athos this morning that a young Gascon would waltz into his life and somehow transform it… Well, he wouldn’t have believed them. And yet here they are. All of them alive, and pleasantly sated with wine, thanks to D’Artagnan’s coin. The youth is generous. Athos has to give him that.

Aramis sits on beside the table, boots propped up on the bench, watching them with warm amusement. Porthos is at the fire, stoking it lazily, not truly paying attention to the conversation.

It’s been a good day, true. But it could be better.

Athos reaches for his own wine. He takes a bracing swig and then sets it aside. “I see no reason to put off for tomorrow the lesson you needed today.”

D’Artagnan raises his eyebrow. “Well then.” His grin is cheeky and young. It makes Athos feel every last weary bone in his body. “What are you waiting for?”

Athos stands, abruptly towering over him. He lets the silence fill the room until D’Artagnan swallows, nervous anticipation rising in his throat. Aramis and Porthos both wait for him to take the lead, watching to see where he’s taking this before they follow.

“Stand up.” Athos commands.

D’Artagnan does. He keeps his chin tilted, that slight defiant gesture making it clear to Athos that he’s still a boy, no matter how well he fights when thrust into the fray. And boys, after all, need lessons.

“Table.” Athos says dismissively, reaching again for his wine.

Porthos steps up behind D’Artagnan and grasps him by the arms.

Aramis clears the table of the remainder of their meal and gestures grandly to the table.

“What,” D’Artagnan starts to protest.

Porthos merely lifts the young Gascon, placing him flat on his back in the center of the table. His boots hang off the end. D’Artagnan doesn’t struggle though the instinct is there. It’s his natural instinct and one he has never refused. Now, though, he waits, the lust in his belly curling even hotter with curiosity.

“Strip him.” Athos sips his wine.

Porthos holds D’Artagnan in place as Aramis methodically removes first his boots, then his breeches, then at last his underclothes, revealing slim thighs, and his cock, already half hard and eager against his thigh. He leaves D’Artagnan’s shirt on before going to stand on the other side of the table. Now Porthos is on his left, Aramis on his right. D’Artagnan waits, gazing across the room as Athos comes to stand at the end of the table between his legs.

Athos surveys the sight before him. This is more like it. D’Artagnan, tongue silent as he’s intrigued into compliance. It won’t last, of course.

 _Pity_ , Athos thinks before asking. “Who wants to go first?”

D’Artagnan’s heart beats a little faster. The heavy, heady weight of the words sinks pleasantly into his skin. They _all_ intend to have him, and he knows too, that he wants this, desperately. His cock stiffens noticeably.

D’Artagnan gazes up at Athos coolly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to?”

Aramis laughs at that, as Porthos just shakes his head. “Manners today.”

Athos leans down, resting his hands on the table on either side of D’Artagnan’s legs. “I prefer to go last.” Once more his gaze travels over the half-bare young man in front of him. “When you’re more…used.”

At that D’Artagnan’s cock fills even more. Aramis looks amused.

“When you beg me for it.” Athos whispers. He has every intention of leaving D’Artagnan a wanton, soiled mess by the end of the night.

“Gascons do not beg.”

Athos smiles. “This one will.” He turns to Porthos. “Porthos?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

They switch places and now D’Artagnan’s slight apprehension grows. After all, Porthos is no small man. He eyes the man’s crotch hesitantly. What sort of monster awaits there?

“You’re making him nervous.” Aramis sighs. “Here.” He goes to fetch a bottle of oil from the shelf.

“You do it then, and I’ll hold his legs.” Porthos suggests.

“I don’t need anyone to hold me down.” D’Artagnan declares valiantly.

“Maybe we just want to.” Porthos winks at him.

Aramis returns to the table. He pours the oil into his palm, slicking his fingers. He grins at D’Artagnan as his fingers rub over his hole, warm and slippery. D’Artagnan twitches at the sensation.

“I do believe we have a virgin.” Aramis’s smile grows wider as he leans in to whisper something to Porthos who laughs and nods. “Athos?”

“Oh, go on.” He knows what they intend. He goes to stand by the fire place, taking his wine with him.

D’Artagnan opens his mouth to ask, when suddenly Porthos rolls him over on his belly, holding him in place. “What’re you?” His body jerks in complete shock as a warm tongue licks down the crease of his ass.

“This will help.” Porthos says matter-of-factly. “Hold still.”

D’Artagnan’s hands grip the table. “What is he, _gah_ -”

Aramis’s tongue circles his hole, flicking across the sensitive entrance, before pushing the tip inside. D’Artagnan gasps at the first intrusion. His hands dig harder into the table. Never has he dreamed of anything like this. Aramis’s tongue probes deeper, fucking him lewdly until his cock is rubbing painfully against the table top.

Meanwhile Porthos slides a hand under him to cup his balls teasingly. “So small.”

“Shhh,” Athos admonishes. “He’s but a lad after all.”

D’Artagnan opens his mouth to retort, but Aramis’s tongue brushes something deep inside him, and instead a low, needy groan escapes him.

Athos smiles and takes another sip of wine.

Aramis straightens up. “Now, I think.”  He reaches for the oil once more. Now his fingers push more easily inside D’Artagnan’s ass. He swivels them in slow deliberate circles, making sure the young Gascon is loosened enough before finally surrendering his position to Porthos.

“Shall we turn him back?”

“No, keep him on his belly.” Porthos says. “I like it like that.” He steps behind D’Artagnan, nudging his thighs wider apart. He grips the boy’s ass cheeks, one in each hand, squeezing them soundly. “You’ve got a good backside, lad.”

He slaps the right cheek fondly. “Like a nice fresh peach.”

Aramis rolls his eyes. “Everything is fruit with you.”

“Fruit is a glorious thing.” Porthos tells him as his hands grip D’Artagnan’s hips. “Have you ever eaten a fresh peach?”

“I believe I just did.” Aramis smirks. He goes to fetch his wine and stand next to Athos by the fire place.

Porthos chortles, his cockhead breaching D’Artagnan with a meaty pop.

D’Artagnan’s eyes widen. He was right. Porthos is not small by any means. He takes a deep breath, forcing his body to relax as the man’s cock pushes deeper, filling him.

“Fuck.” He squeaks.

“Nearly there.” Porthos announces, and with the last nudge, he’s buried solidly, balls deep within D’Artagnan.

Aramis watches them for a second, but then turns to Athos, murmuring, “Are you sure about this?”

Athos pauses before replying. “If I thought for one second this would do more harm than good, I would end it right now.”

Aramis clasps his shoulder. “I thought as much.” He smiles at Athos. “It’s good that you do not, for I am certainly looking forward to my turn.”

“As am I.” Athos murmurs. “As am I.”

*  *  *

D’Artagnan’s breath is coming in steady pants. He’s never going to insult Porthos again, that’s for certain. Christ almighty, the man is hung better than the farm horses back home.

“Wine please.” Porthos snaps his fingers at Aramis who makes a rude face, but fetches the man’s cup. He brings it over to him.

Porthos takes a deep gulp. “Ah, much better.” He slaps D’Artagnan’s ass again. “How are you holding up?”

“Are you ever going to actually move?” D’Artagnan demands. He feels like a stuck pig waiting for the inevitable flames. He glances over at Athos who merely eyes him over his wine.

D’Artagnan squirms, but there is no escape.

“Oh, I’ll move.” Porthos declares. “Just wait till tomorrow and all you’ll be able to remember is getting properly fucked by my cock.”

Aramis raises an eyebrow. “I daresay he’ll remember more than that.”

“Possibly,” Porthos concedes. “but _I_ daresay my cock will be the most memorable part.” He punctuates this comment with a steady skewering thrust that makes D’Artagnan gasp.

Aramis rolls his eyes at Athos who just chuckles.

“Now.” Porthos sets his wine down. He grips D’Artagnan’s hips more tightly, and sets to with gusto.

The noises that D’Artagnan makes in response are among the few things in life that he would prefer to never speak of again. Porthos fucks like a beast. It’s all D’Artagnan can do to hold on to the table. Each thrust of the giant’s cock threatens to leave him split open and begging, and he hasn’t even been touched by Athos yet.

D’Artagnan turns his head to glance at the musketeer in question. Athos remains by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantle as he watches the tableaux in progress.

Porthos grunts, his large hands squeeze D’Artagnan’s ass as he withdraws only to thrust back in.

“Christ.” D’Artagnan gulps.

Porthos reaches around to slide his fist over his cock once, making D’Artagnan quiver. He clenches with need, and Porthos comes with a mighty sigh.

“There.” He gives D’Artagnan another affectionate squeeze and eases out.

D’Artagnan lies there on the table, trying to catch his breath. He feels empty, bereft. Though he suspects he will not feel so for long as Aramis now approaches the table.

“You always have to make a mess, don’t you” Armis trails his fingers through the semen trickling down D’Artagnan’s thighs.

Porthos shrugs. “I thought that was the point.” He pours himself more wine. “Left him nice and slick for you.”

“Here,” Aramis slowly turns D’Artagnan over on his back once more. 

D’Artagnan flushes as his cock is revealed to be leaking across the table. Aramis rubs his thumb over the tip, catching the beads of pre-come with an amused expression.

“Told you he’d enjoy my cock.” Porthos chooses that moment to belch in a complacent manner.

“I’m sure I can think of something he’ll enjoy more.” Aramis murmurs. He rests his hands on D’Artagnan’s thighs and lowers his head.

D’Artagnan’s lips part in a wordless cry as Aramis sucks tenderly at his cock. The heat sheathing him is heaven after being neglected. The tongue glides over his needy flesh, lightly teasing his foreskin. D’Artagnan’s hips buck towards Aramis’s mouth, and the hands on his thighs press him back down.

“There, there.” Aramis pulls off. “Your time will come.”

“Aramis,” D’Artagnan smiles his most charming smile up at him, but Aramis merely smiles in return and lifts D’Artagnan’s legs up over his shoulders.

His cock fits D’Artagnan much better. Aramis’s hands mold and caress D’Artagnan’s ass as he thrusts, his balls bouncing against D’Artagnan’s ass.

Still, D’Artagnan wants to come already. It’s only fair. He looks over at Athos. “Are you really going to make me wait all night?”

“What do you think?” Athos says.

He crosses the room to gaze down at D’Artagnan with thoughtful eyes.

D’Artagnan starts to respond, but Aramis’s cock moves inside him in a particularly delicious way, and his words are lost to an incoherent murmur. Aramis’s cock is bliss, slim and long. Each thrust into D’Artagnan’s sensitized ass makes his stomach tighten with pleasure.

Athos pulls D’Artagnan’s shirt up to his neck. He brushes his thumb over D’Artagnan’s left nipple in a contemplative fashion, before seating himself at the bench.

“Athos.”

“Shhh.” Athos lowers his mouth to graze the nipple with his teeth.

D’Artagnan groans.

Aramis’s cock continues to slide in and out of his hole as Athos attends to his nipples. D’Artagnan’s head swims. The heat from the fire feels too hot now, and he squirms again, but there is only this, the steady pace of Aramis’s cock as he speeds up, and the sweet agony of Athos’s mouth on his nipples.

Aramis turns his head and casually bites D’Artagnan on the calf as he finishes.

D’Artagnan yelps. The sharp, quick pain roots him firmly in the moment. His balls ache afresh.

Aramis steps back, his come adding to the mess left by Porthos as he pulls out.  He takes a deep breath and glances at Athos. “He’s all yours.”

“Thank you.”

Athos surveys D’Artagnan with a satisfied smile. The Gascon is sprawled across the table, filled with come, still desperate for release.  His cock rests heavy against his belly. He will beg before the night is over, or Athos is not a king’s musketeer.

Yet D’Artagnan chooses now to prop himself up on his elbows, gazing insolently up at the musketeer before him. “When are you going to let me come?”

“When you beg me.” Athos says matter-of-factly.

D’Artagnan lips curve into a pout, but he holds his tongue.

Athos pushes two fingers into him without further ado. “Look at this mess,” he says. “You’re dripping with it.” He curls his fingers making D’Artagnan squirm yet again.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.” D’Artagnan murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

“It is.” Athos says. He undoes his breeches slowly, watching D’Artagnan’s eyes as he draws his cock out.

D’Artagnan says nothing at all, merely licks his lips.

Athos’s cock slides wetly through the slick mess, thrusting D’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan bites his lower lip. Athos’s cock is not as massive as Porthos’s, nor as long as Aramis, but the way he moves it. The way it moves, hot and fierce inside him, sends a shiver from the tips of his bare toes straight to D’Artagnan’s belly. By now his balls are aching and all he wants is to stroke himself off. However, he has the feeling Athos won’t allow that so he keeps his hands clenched by his sides.

“He needs something to occupy his mouth.” Athos says. “Aramis?”

“Give me a moment.” Aramis takes a sip of wine. “We’re not all as young as D’Artagnan.”

“I can oblige.” Porthos announces. He steps over to the side of the table, cock slapping against his thigh.

Athos pulls out. “Turn over on your hands and knees.”

D’Artagnan does without arguing, a sign that he’s well on his way to begging. He kneels there on all fours upon the table. Athos nudges him until he turns sideways. Porthos and he pull the benches from both sides, giving them more room to stand.

Porthos steps in on his side. He pats D’Artagnan’s cheek.  “Open up.”

D’Artagnan obeys and Porthos’s thick cock fills his mouth just as Athos enters him once more.

Porthos’s cock slides wetly inside his mouth. D’Artagnan bobs his head, adjusting his jaw so he doesn’t choke. Athos clasps his backside with his hands as he thrusts at a careful, measured, torturous pace. It’s _maddening_. D’Artagnan would complain, but his tongue is otherwise occupied.

Aramis finishes his wine and walks over to stand by Porthos’s side. “Move over.”

Porthos obliges, and Aramis’s cock nudges at D’Artagnan’s lips. D’Artagnan struggles to encompass both cocks filling his mouth, as the one in his ass continues to fuck him steadily. Athos takes his time, making each thrust count. D’Artagnan arches back against him as Athos rubs across D’Artagnan’s prostate, making him groan.

The two cocks in his mouth slide against each other until Porthos at last pulls out. He wraps his fist around his cock, stroking it.

“On your back again.” Athos commands.

D’Artagnan sighs, but complies. As soon as he does, Aramis’s cock returns to his mouth. Athos eases back inside his ass. At this point, it’s exquisitely easy for his cock to thrust inside D’Artagnan’s ass. Once he’s sheathed inside once more, D’Artagnan’s hole clenches hotly around him.

Aramis comes first, balls tightening as he shudders. He spills his seed down D’Artagnan’s throat in an endless stream. D’Artagnan swallows hurriedly, but Aramis’s cock is still in his mouth when Porthos shoots over his face. It lands on D’Artagnan’s cheeks and nose, lacing his forehead and hair.

D’Artagnan looks up at Athos as Aramis‘s cock slips from between his ravaged lips. There’s come on his eyelashes. Athos smiles. He leans in to brush his fingertip across D’Artagnan’s cheek, and then holds it out to him. D’Artagnan sucks at his finger, up to the knuckle and Athos thrusts harder, fucking him until at last he comes with a sigh.

And still D’Artagnan lies there, cock still desperate, balls still tight and painful.

Athos wraps one hand around D’Artagnan’s cock and cups his balls with the other. The warmth from his hands sends a tremor through D’Artagnan’s chest.

“Please.”

“You’ll have to speak up.” Porthos says from his place by the fire. “We’re getting rather old, after all.”

Aramis chuckles.

“ _Please_.” D’Artagnan’s voice cracks. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and stares resolutely at the roof, before squeezing his eyes shut. “Please, Athos.”

The hand around his cock drops away, and then, D’Artagnan sucks in a sharp breath as Athos slicks his hand with something, and starts to stroke him languidly.

He opens his eyes. Athos’s fingers are coated in the mix of the semen trickling out of him. He’s stroking him off with it. D’Artagnan’s groan echoes through the silent room. He’s so damn close he's certain he will die if Athos doesn’t let him come.

“Once more.” Athos whispers.

“ _Please_ , Athos,” D’Artagnan’s voice is hoarse. “Let me.”

Athos smiles. He brings D’Artagnan off with three sharp strokes. D’Artagnan’s come adds to the mess on his hand. Athos studies it, and then he holds out his hand to D’Artagnan.

D’Artagnan's tongue darts out to lap at his palm. Lick by lick, he cleans Athos’s hand. Only then does Athos withdraw from his body.

“There.” He tucks himself away. “I trust the lesson was satisfactory.”

For once D’Artagnan has no words. He lies there, spread upon the table in a daze. He can still feel the semen seeping out of him, pooling upon the wood.

Slowly he turns his head to watch as Aramis and Porthos go upstairs. Athos stands by the fireplace, reaching for the pot of water Aramis put to heat over the flames.

“Come.” Athos nods to D'Artagnan. He fetches a large basin, placing it before the fire, before pouring in the heated water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

D’Artagnan pushes himself up on unsteady arms. His body feels as though it belongs to someone else. He walks with slow, drained steps over to the bath Athos has prepared.

He strips off the filthy shirt covering him and sinks into the basin with a sigh of relief. Tomorrow he will feel every last thrust, but for now, he merely feels sated. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

Athos glances at him as he pours himself a last cup of wine.

“Well then.” He clears his throat, watching D’Artagnan soak in the water.

D’Artagnan opens one eye. “Well, what?”

“Did you truly learn your lesson?”

D’Artagnan thinks about it. “Yes.” He says at last.

“Oh, really?” Athos is both amused and surprised.

“But,” D’Artagnan says, “You might have to teach me again.”

Athos hides his smile behind his wine. “I thought Gascons were quick learners.”

“Sometimes it can take a while.” D’Artagnan says innocently.

Athos tosses the youth a towel, hitting him in the face. “Goodnight, D’Artagnan.”

*  *  *

Athos goes upstairs to his room and waits in the weary silence of the long night. His body is exhausted. He too will ache tomorrow, but for the most part it has been a very satisfactory day.

Porthos and Aramis share the room next door. He can hear the rhythmic snores from here.

Athos places one arm behind his head, trying to even out the discomfort of the misshapen pillow, and waits.

Light footsteps on the stairs, a brief hesitation in the doorway, and then D’Artagnan slips into bed beside him. He’s clad only in his thin underclothes. The heat from his young body is inviting. 

Another night Athos would remark on this audacity.

Another night he would tell D’Artagnan to leave so that he could sleep alone in his solitary bed.

Not tonight. Tonight, he sighs, and turns slightly so that D’Artagnan has a tad more space on the mattress. It doesn’t stop the Gascon from moving closer and resting his head in the crook of Athos’s shoulder.

Athos sighs again, and then his arm moves down to rest ever so slightly on D’Artagnan’s waist. He waits until D'Artagnan's breath is the slow, regular pace of one asleep before pressing a light kiss to his hair. 


End file.
